Phantom Drabbles
by TragedyBunny
Summary: A collection of drabbles based on different version's of Erik's story, most were originally posted in lj community potocontest. I'm a huge ErikChristine fan, but I will explore other pairings as well. This collection is now completed.
1. PreWedding Jitters

_Phantom copyright ALW and Leroux_

The night felt as though it were unending in its torment, as though she had been imprisoned there forever. The stuffy society women crowded around her like vultures, whilst the men dragged her fiancée off to brag about how many sons she would make. To Christine Daaé this was hell on earth. Raoul's mother had arranged this masked ball, a mere two days before their wedding, as a welcome to out of town guests, and she had rigidly suffered through every moment of it. Now she was surrounded by older women, trying to give her tips on how to prepare for her first time in the marriage bed, her cheeks flushing the entire time. She could distantly see Raoul on the other side of the room, cavorting and no doubt making crude jokes with the men of his circle. And, for not the first time that night, she thought she saw another man on the fringe of the crowds, staring at her, licking his wonderfully seductive lips, and then vanishing within in the sea of masks. She shivered at the thought of those lips, an ache filling the most secret part of her.

"Christine have you heard a word I was saying?" Vanessa, Raoul's scandalous second cousin interrupted her thoughts. Christine vaguely shook her head no.

"I'm sorry Vanessa." The girl followed her gaze and smiled a wicked little grin.

"I see, I see. It will only be two more days, and then he's all yours." She nudged her with her elbow and left to cozy up to a rather wealthy, childless aunt from England. For some reason her words filled Christine with dread rather than a pleasant nervous anticipation that one would expect so near to their wedding. Her heart screamed at her that this marriage bed was all wrong, it was filled with the wrong man, there should be someone else there. She stood there for many minutes, staring at nothing, thinking nothing, just quietly feeling a sense of mourning. Finally, someone who Christine could only guess the name and relation of came along. She was an older looking, matriarchal type, and Christine prayed that she would say something that wasn't petty, gossipy or another anecdote about marital relations. The conversation began pleasant enough, but a few words made Christine stomp off muttering excuses about powdering her nose.

The lady had said to her, "You must meet my musician friend, he is very talented." Christine could have screamed, she was the fourth one tonight to tell her something of that effect. Then the hideous ancient lady stated something entirely too much for her. "I have brought him with me; he is here amongst the crowd, some where's. Perhaps I can find him and he could play for us."

She was off the deep end as she pushed out of the ballroom and into the deserted house. All of the servants had been occupied by the ball, leaving Christine free to wander the labyrinthine De Chagny manor. All night she had been stared at like a foreign animal, the object of ridicule she could only half hear. It seemed to her as though the entirety of Raoul's family had come just to stare at the strumpet opera girl who dared to attempt to raise herself beyond her stature and become a Viscountess. She was done with the entire evening and she didn't care if Raoul was furious with her. The comments about music and musicians had been never ending. She wanted nothing more than to forget she had ever sung a note in her entire life.

It only bothers you for one reason and one alone. Her subconscious prodded at her. You should have given yourself to him when you had the chance, you never should have left. She growled at herself as she ascended to the second level, in search of a place where she could find a relief in her solitude. Then, vaguely, she became aware of a melody that seemed at first in her mind. Freezing where she stood, she cocked her head to the side trying to ascertain if the melody was once again an illusion or real. Her heart thudded as she recognized it to be a real melody and she hurried upstairs in its direction, drawn by the power of that passionate piece. Past the point of no return, no going back now.

Her mind sung the words urging her towards the player of the tune. She burst through the door of one of the second floor rooms. It appeared to be simply a music room, although she could not see much of it in the dark, and there, playing by the light of a single candle was the Angel of music himself.

"Erik." Her eyes must have deceived her, her senses must have flown. She came towards him; certain he would vanish like in all the other dreams and hallucinations.

"Christine, I have come here to offer you my congratulations on your upcoming wedding, I am sure you and the Viscount will be very happy." His voice was filled with a great mix a sorrow and rage, the emotions had to be gnawing at his soul, yet he never ceased playing.

"So, you are the great musician that came with the great lady." She drew closer now, gathering in her courage.

"I needs must make a living somehow, I play for the old women, and I keep my mask on, and they adore me. Yes, I came here on purpose." He could read her without even looking at her; he could know her thoughts by her very breath. That is how well Erik knew her. It shamed her that she could hide nothing from him, least of all the desire that welled within her at the sight of him. She had once thought that such desire was sinful, part of her reason for leaving; now she knew that to be a lie. Feeling a little more courageous, she sat down next to him on the piano bench and watched as he continued to play. She watched him, aware of her desires, her chest heaving, pressing her breasts against the stiff corset she wore. She felt herself drawing nearer to him, like a moth to a flame. His playing ceased and he turned to her, a dark smile playing about his lips. "And why have you come here Christine, why do you come to me?" He sang to her then, hot notes that made her feel as though her soul were on fire. "In your mind you've already succumb to me, dropped all defenses, completely succumb to me."

Her breathing became more rapid then, her mouth opening as if waiting for his. "Why Christine you are behaving rather unseemly for an engaged woman." She came out of her trance," I...I...you sing so beautifully." He laughed and openly glanced down the front of her dress to the pert breasts within. He imagined how hard her rosy nipples were by now, how pleasurable it would be for both of them if he were to have them in his lips. His mind drifted to another part of her, a part that was likely hot and wet with desire for him and a well needed first penetration. "I do many things very beautifully my Christine."

In an instant he lunged forward, pushing his lip to hers. When she did not resist he pulled her body tight against his and drove his tongue in between her lips. He tasted the sweetness of the earthbound angel and she moaned in response to the play between their tongues. Breathless, he pulled away from her. "Just for one night, let your darker side give in Christine. That's all I ask of you, just one night. I do not ask for your heart or your hand. He gently placed his hands on her waist, his look of wanting was clear to her.

"Yes Erik. This is your right; this moment was meant for you." Her voice suddenly took to the previous melody, singing for him the song of seduction. "In my mind of already imagined our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent. Now I am here with you, no second thoughts, I've decided."

The song impassioned him once more and he drew her close to him, and began to lay searing kisses from her cheek to her collar bone, then to the exposed flesh of her breasts. Here he gently ran his tongue over those areas and slipped into the crevice between them. Christine's hands tangled in his black hair as she moaned for him to never stop. His pants painfully constrained him as he grew harder and harder at the sound of her passion. His hands flew to her waist and roughly pulled her onto to his lap, where he assaulted her mouth once more. His hands caressed their way up her legs, carefully moving up her voluminous skirts, revealing the pale flesh of her thighs; he pulled her tight against him.

Christine moaned as she felt him rubbing against her, his hardness begging to enter her. Erik silenced her with his tongue, his hands tangling in her hair, releasing most of it from the pins that held it up. As his hand comb through the brown locks he tightened his hand in them, yanking hard, jerking Christine's head back as his mouth laid searing kisses on her neck. His other began its ascent up those perfect thighs to the space between them, there they lingered, stroking her through her undergarments. Erik could feel the heat and wetness of her, causing him to moan in unparalleled desire.

"Erik, oh Erik." Christine's voice, ragged with desire, pleaded for him to take her. Erik smiled in the dim light, fully aware that in this moment he was once again her master, not the idiot boy she was to marry.

"On the floor, remain sitting." He gruffly ordered her. Christine was quick to obey, removing herself from his lap to be seated on the floor. He rose to join her, the erection now most definitely painful. Seating himself on the floor next to her, he delicately reached up and removed the rest of her hair from its pins, letting flow over shoulders. He stared at her; she was so beautiful that it enraged him. Only one night she would be his, the Viscount would enjoy her for the rest of his life. He grabbed her shoulders and forced her to the floor, straddling her and pinning her down, invading her mouth with violent thrusts of his tongue. He was delighted by the sudden fright in her eyes. "No turning back now." He reminded her as he took one hand from her shoulders and ripped away the front of her dress and the layers of fabric below it, revealing her delicate breasts and nipples as hard as little stones.

His lips flew to one, sucking on it gently. When it elicited a response, he nipped it, causing her to gasp in both shock and pleasure. Erik removed his mouth in order to stare at her as he took both of the tiny points in his fingers and massaged them. Christine began to pant, her hips rocking back and forth, trying wordlessly to convey her wants. Erik laughed. "Perhaps you should tell me what you want Christine, what you desire of me."

Her cheeks burned crimson, horrified at the thought of asking him to do it. He departed his straddling position to move between her legs and thrust her skirts up. Frustrated at the sight of her undergarments he ripped them off of her, leaving her garters and stockings, and threw them to the side. His fingers pushed their way into her, Erik shivered at the wetness he found there, Christine called his name. "Is this what you wanted my dear?" His fingers worked back and forth, drawing a number of vocal responses from her. "Do you want something else as well?"

Again a modest flush answered his query, but no words. Erik became a bit agitated with her. "You must not be naughty Christine; you must answer me when I ask a question. You were such a good girl when I taught you to sing, don't make start lashing you now." Her eyes widened with fear, and she whimpered when he removed his hand from her, as though she feared he would carry through with his threat.

He unbuttoned his trousers, removing himself from them, glad to be free of his painful confinement. He pulled her hand down towards him and wrapped it around himself moving it back and forth. "Be a good dear and continue that." He removed his hand and stared down at the glorious picture before him, Christine's delicate hand, stroking him. He drew his hand back between her legs, his thumb gently stroking the sensitive bud there, causing her heat to increase. He gently inserted two of his fingers into her and began working them together with his thumb, causing Christine to squirm, before either could climax, he broke their contact and pulled away, wanting them to peak from the actual act. Unable to contain himself any further, he removed her hand to pin both arms behind her head, and brought himself to her entrance, ready to steal her virginity from the Viscount De Chagny, and saw the fear in eyes once more.

This time he stopped however, the game would come to end if she were too afraid to continue. Murderer he may be, but rapist never. Christine looked ashamed that he should stop, as though she had done something wrong. "Why do you stop Erik?"

"You are afraid." He released her hands, which she brought up to stroke his face quite tenderly.

"I am only a little afraid, but I want you so badly."

"Ask me for it Christine, beg me to take you." He needed to hear her want, to plead for it.

"Erik, please…" He didn't move, just perched there with that self satisfied smirk on his face. "Enter me, take me, put out this fire you have ignited." He thrust himself into her, Christine winced with pain. Erik left himself still for a moment, allowing her body to mold itself to him; her virgin's blood seeped around him. He loathed himself for not being gentle, but he loved the sensation of ripping away her innocence there on the darkened music room floor. He felt the tightness of her, the newness. It squeezed him, constricted him, and made him afraid he would loose himself within the first few moments of their coupling. He began thrusting against her, slowly at first, then gaining in momentum. Christine's world became a daze of pleasure as Erik moved himself inside of her, causing her to call his name and implore him never to stop. His thrusts soon became deeper and harder, claiming her, conquering her. He loved her, he hated her. He wanted to pleasure her, he wanted to punish her. All these feelings played out at once, as his thrusts became violent, driving him in and out of her. He felt himself at the precipice of desire. "Christine." He called out as his body was racked with pleasure. "Erik." She echoed him before giving way to an exhausted moan.

They lay intertwined for a moment before he broke away. Sitting up he stared at her as she lay still upon the floor, her eyes closed. The future Viscountess, he felt the rage once more boiling up within him, not his wife or his lover. He wanted to smother her, the beat her. It would be wonderful if the seed he had planted in her took root, filling her with his child, not De Chagny's. He wanted to possess her, to break her, to make her feel the way he had that night as he watched her leave him with the fop. Unable to contain the rage, he grabbed her hips, causing her eyes to fly open. Before she could utter a sound, Erik flipped her on her stomach, and threw her skirts up once more.

He grabbed her hips to bring them up levels with his newly hardened, throbbing organ. He thrust himself into her as hard as he could manage, knowing she was raw from their first coupling. He grabbed her head, forcing down to the floor, wishing to show her that she was being subjugated. Christine obeyed his wordless commands like a trained concubine, dutifully holding every detail of the position. He violently moved himself in and out of her, grabbing her hips to keep leverage. He furiously worked her, demanding her, the surrender of her body, letting her know his anger and pain. He thought he may have heard her whimper, but he was beyond even that reaching him.

Christine felt as though her body was being torn apart from the aggression of Erik's attention. She knew it was his pain that pushed him to brutalize her, and felt as though she deserved his punishment. She whimpered in pain and pleasure as Erik used her harshly, his manhood plunging in and out of her wet mound. Until he came, pulling her down so that his entire length was inside of her, his seed completely coating her inside.

Calm washed over him as his emotions vanished, filling his veins with ice as he realized what he had done. His black rage and been banished, but at her expense. Doubtless, Christine was in pain from what he had done to her. He removed himself from her, and collapsed on his side, not bothering to right his clothing. To his surprise she came and lay next to him, her back to his chest. Wrapping his arms around herself, she snuggled up to him. "Christine, I am so very sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you." He wanted to cry, she hadn't deserved what had just happened.

"Erik." She cooed in his ear. "It is fine, I am fine."

"I ruined this, it should have been beautiful. Our last memories of each other."

"It was beautiful." They lay together in the darkened room for a long time, each knowing they would not meet again.


	2. Someone's Mother

I never asked to be anyone's mother. Indeed I was bit young for it. Still, I cradled his sleeping form in my small lap, heedless of any consequences. No, I had not asked for this, but in a moment it had been thrust upon me, a sacred duty I could not refuse.

It was a heavy burden for a girl of fourteen to bear, but I found in time that it was also a joy. I learned to love him as his mother never could. The years past, and a distance grew between us, I found my boy drawing away from me, becoming quite strange.

Finally, I gave birth to a child of my own, a daughter, he would hardly speak to me then. I was still his mother though, whether he liked it or not, and I continued to watch over him.

Then she came along and he found a distraction other than scaring the wits out of simple-minded ballet girls. Unfortunately, distraction became something more. As his mother, I counseled against it. Was she not also a child to me? Did I not know her well enough to know she was not ready for this? Rien! I felt like everybody's mother at that moment.

I aided him in all his madness, trying to dissuade managers, viscounts, and prima donnas from their course. My boy was beyond my reach now. I must be a proper mother and allow him to face his destiny. My heart sunk when he chose flight and fire. Knowing things would never be properly resolved if it ended this way, I led the Viscount to fate's door, and left him there. He was not mine to worry about.

Like a good mother, I awaited him in the chamber beyond his home. He was my boy again as he crashed through the mirror and buried his sobbing head in my lap. She had left as I knew she would, and I knew she would come to regret it. A mother knows her children.

I never asked to be Erik's mother, but I filled the role as best I could. I am still his mother to this day. He brings me a rose today, and news of my little Meg, I am a grandmother again. Mon Dieu, that would be the fourth. I am failing now; he holds my hand, comforting me. My boy, I am glad he is here.

"Take care of Meg for me." I whisper.

"I do mama, you know that." I glance at the ring on his finger, the match to the one he gave her years ago. She is not Christine, but she loves him well. My heart sunk when they first told me, but as a mother, I could not deny them their happiness, so long waited for.

"Mother." His voice is quiet. "Thank you for teaching me to love, thank you for giving her to me." She was in the end, the only thing I could give him that brought him happiness.

"

What are mothers for?" I smile at him, my dear boy.


	3. Cold Comfort

Cold comfort

Erik's tombstone mocked him, almost as the man himself had mocked him in life, reminding him of all the things he could never be in her eyes. The fragile specter in black still stood before the grave, as though in worship. Firmly, he crumpled the in his hand, not wanting her to know it was the man who had brought him here at this opportune moment.

_Wanting to hold you, wanting you near, how much I've wanted you home._

His arms snaked around her, pulling her close, Christine crumbled inot his chest. He could feel the glistening wetness of her tears on his skin.

"Oh, Raoul, thank you for being here."

"Of course Christne."

Now he would be her valiant protector, the one to comfort her her. Now he could be with her.

"Make it stop hurting Raoul."

"I can't, only time can."

Her tiny form quaked in his arms. Even if Erik was his enemy, he would rather see him alive than see Christine in such. Her year with him had left her a more bereft widow then a woman married fifty years. Still he wanted to love her, even he would always be second in her heart.

_Now that you've come back, turned night into day, I need you to stay. _

"Come home with me Christine, I'll take care of you." Mutely she nodded as he led her from the cemetary.

_Now I come to you with open arms, nothing to hide, believe what I say._

Handing Christine into the carriage, he turned back to Erik's grave. "Don't worry Erik, I'll always take care of your angel."

He meant those words sincerly and could only hope that somewhere, he approvd of them. Inside the carriage, Raoul wrapped his arms around Christine, offering what comfort he could.


	4. Frozen

The undertaker's office was not crowded, there was no reason for it to be in those heady warm days of June. The near-deaf little old man had stared dumbly at my mask at first, but my money greasing his palm had soon ensured his compliance.

I meticulously described every detail of the box I shopped for this day. The item was required to be made of a deeply dark stained, solid oak, almost a hue of red. The lid was to be emblazoned with an ornate cross in gold, and the lining was not satin, but an austere white velvet. I knew she would approve of these specifiactions.

I sat in one of the rickety leather chairs while the old man put together my bill. Once he had my payment firmly in hand, I was told to return on the morrow and retrieve the order. I tended to the whole business with my usual frozen demeanor, so that the man was thoroughly disconcerted by the affair. He did not even dare to ask who the box was for. In fact, I caugth a glimpse of him crossing himself in the wndow as I exited.

A day semed a painfully long time, but I returned at the appointed hour. Normally, one could purcase such a thing straight away, but the casket required in this case had to meet certain specifications, its owner by no means being typical. The piece itself was more than I could have hoped for. I examined every edge, hinge, and fabric fold for any imperfection, but it was truely a marvelous piece of craftsmanship. I sent it on to my home straightaway, where it would await the one who was to lay in it.

Slowly, I lowered the lid on the marvelous little coffin that he laid in. A tear slid down my cheek for the little infant tucked away inside, frozen in time. It was not until I looked up that I noticed Christine had appeared beside me, as silent and pale as a wraith. I said a silent prayer for my son, and apologized to him that he hadn't known life.

So much grieving over the deformed little thing that had not drwan his first breath. So much...not neccesary...I begin to crack, tears openly overwhelming me. I fall to my knees and bury my face in her skirts.

"I'm sorry Christine, this is all my fault. I made you give birth to him, I put him inside you."

She makes no sound, only slides down to sit beside me and run her hand through my hair. Will she never speak again? This is my fault, my punishment for daring to live like a normal man. Christine is too good to say, but I know she belives as well, I see it in her frozen eyes. My little wife, my little son, must everything I touch become so tainted?


	5. Fatherhood

It is a strange thing to be father. It is an odd experience to watch the woman you love swell with your child inside her. Over nine months she grows, and then a birth occurs. It is torturous to listen to her screaming in pain for the hours it takes to deliver the baby, but it is wondrous to hear the doctor pronounce the birth of the tiny being. 

"A boy!" The man cried ecstatically. My lovely little Christine never looked more radiant then when she took him into her arms. Daintily she kissed the tiny perfect forehead, my heart swelling with love and pride. It is amazing to ear his strong lungs create his first beautiful cries, to watch him nourish from her for the first time.

I watch their first days together in utter awe, as observing a true miracle. My mind can hardly contemplate that I helped create our amazing child, he is too unlike me, too perfect.

As I watch over his crib one night, all these thoughts gather in my mind. He is three months old now, my sweet little Charles. Before I can stop myself I reach out a hand to caress his cheek. A wave of agony courses through me as my hand does naught but ethereally pass through his little face. His eyes open and I swear that his tiny eyes can see my nonexistent shape, although I hope he cannot, I believe it would only frighten him.

A weary sigh escapes me, which cause Christine to roll over in her bed and call my name in her sleep. A steady wave of guilt beat at my mind, she knows I am here and suffers for it. If a soul could shatter, I would. My eyes lock back onto my son. His mother will likely tell him that there is an angel that looks over him from heaven; I doubt she'll tell him it is his true father, but I make a promise none the less that her words will be true always. I will always protect him and his mother, even across this barrier of death. The angel of music may be dead, but whether they know it or not, the De Chagny family will never be without their own guardian angel.


	6. The Music Instructor

How does one say good bye to a dream? How does one give up the one thing you desire most in this world? How can you set free the woman you love?

The end of my illusions of happiness began with the acute knowledge that me beloved wife was somehow terribly unhappy. All of my pleas to her to tell me what grieved her were answered with a standard "nothing", and subsequent tears welling in her eyes.

These were not always her ways, not even after that night at the opera house did despair overtake her. For the first year of our marriage we were in bliss, the portrait of happiness. We acted every bit the young couple in love, strolling the grounds on the De Chagny estate hand in hand, snuggling before the fire, and spending all morning in bed together. With the birth of out first born, a son, Christine descended into melancholy.

The change began with her refusal to attend any social gatherings. In my naiveté, I believed this to be due to worries about her figure so soon after giving birth, and I indulged her in her desire for solitude. It soon became apparent that her figure was not to be worried over as her pregnancy weight vanished and then some. My poor wife was rarely to be seen eating anything save for a few bites at dinner to satisfy me.

So often I could hear her crying softly at night, my heart broke in my chest at the sound of it. Why could I not make her happy? What had I done to her? Repeatedly I begged her to come to me with her troubles, to no avail; she would simply stare at me with those blue eyes filled with torments only her mind knew. My wife became a stranger to me, living in whatever room of the house I did not currently occupy. In these dark nights listening to her tears, an idea began to gnaw at my heart. I believed I knew the reason for her depression, and my soul burned in agony for it. I could raise her out of her darkness, and I feared there was only one who could. I cursed him for always being between us.

Three years passed between the birth of our first son, and that of our second. Christine and I hollowly celebrated holidays, anniversaries, and each other's birthdays. She no longer came to my bed after the birth of our second child, preferring the seclusion of her own rooms. Our couplings had become more of a farce than anything before they ceased all together. Every time she closed her eye, I knew it was not me she was seeing.

The only thing she took any joy in was our children, they alone kept her alive. The one thing she could be prompted to truly celebrate were their birthdays. The only time our children could not cheer was one particular day of the year, on which her black mourning would confine her to bed for the entirety of the day. That day, I also mourned, for it was a day of terrible mistakes, the anniversary of Don Juan Triumphant, and that fateful night at the opera

In the heat of a summer's night, I lay awake; listening to her perfect voice, lull our baby to sleep. The beauty of it stunned me so that at first I heard not what song it was she sang. When my senses returned, I recognized the final aria from Aida. I leapt from bed, sprinting down the hall to where her voice came from. When I threw open the door, I realized there was no child present, only my Christine, pensively vocalizing before a mirror. I rushed upon her, seizing her by her shoulders and brutally shaking her until she cried.

"You cannot go on like this, we cannot! What must I do? Do you want to leave me and take our children? I will give you a divorce if that's what you wish." I clasped her in my arms, crying shamelessly.

"No Raoul, I won't ever leave you, I made a promise. My pain is no fault of your, worry yourself not." Somehow her words of assurance left me feeling more empty then ever.

From that day forward my wife tried to maintain all the appearances of a normal healthy woman. I could not be fooled by smiles that did not reach her eyes, and a couple of pounds being gained. I knew my wife suffered still. Two more years came and went, our oldest son was nearly five and our sixth anniversary approached.

Six years living this lie, nearly five of them in utter misery. That anniversary I would give Christine a gift that would put an end to her tears. After dinner that evening I presented her with the man who would become our children's music tutor. I had scoured all of Paris to find the world's greatest musician. A confused look passed over Christine's features, all the while a smile, a genuine one, tugged at her lips. I had finally made her happy. After the announcement I asked him if he would be obliged to move in to the manor house with us to avoid constant commute. Then I dismissed him so that I could spend a few more hours with my wife.

Christine made love to me one last that night, our union was almost enough to erase the hurt in my heart. When she whispered, "I love you", I knew that she meant it, just in a different way than I wished. The next morning I informed my household that would be away in London on business for an extended period of time. I warned the servants that I would tolerate no gossiping or rumor mongering while I was gone or when I returned. 

Over the years there after the pain gradually diminished, leaving only a dull, constant ache. The light that had returned to Christine's eyes was more than an even trade for that ache. Our children adored their music instructor, and he became a second father to them. Their mother's adoration was painfully obvious as well. When after a few years a third child was born to Christine, I accepted her as a blessing and gave her the De Chagny name. I traveled more and more, leaving my family in his capable hands. 

Through out my life I have tried to be a good man, I can only hope that in my small ways I have brought her a small measure of the happiness the music man brought into her life. Our children are gone now, all grown up with families of their own. Once again, my wife is a stranger to me, living in an entirely different wing of the house from me. Most of the servants are gone now as well, there is no one left to talk. I leave them to each other in peace; he has little time left the doctors say. May haps when the angel has returned to heaven, Christine can return to me.


	7. Bunnies

Disclaimer: Erik's song "borrowed" from Buffy the Vampire Slayer Ep. "Once More With Feeling"

Bunnies

"Wait!" Erik held up his hand to stop the rushing Viscount and his sword.

"What, you fiend?" Raoul halted and flashed his brilliant smile at Christine who stood by wringing her hands.

"I know why it is that Christine no longer loves me!" The phantom dashingly declared, swooshing his cape for good measure.

"As if she ever did…" Raoul halted, wanting to know what madness this man would spout forth.

_"I have a theory…" _Erik began singing softly, _"it must be bunnies."_

"What!" Raoul blanched at the ludicrous statement. The phantom continued, now circling around the Viscount, his voice growing louder.

_"Bunnies aren't just cute like everyone supposes, they've got those hopping legs and twitchy little noses." _

Christine looked desperately to Raoul, trying to figure out the meaning behind Erik's disturbing song.

_"And what's with all those carrots, what do they need such good eyesight for anyways. Bunnies, bunnies, it must be bunnies." _Erik reached his destination behind the hypnotized fop. _"Or maybe midgets." _

With that he hefted his sword and brought the pommel down into Raoul's skull. His eyes captured Christine's as Raoul descended into unconsciousness. Her blues eyes were filled with horror. "You really are crazy."

"Crazy like a fox my love." He pounced on her, wrapping his cloak around her, and pulled her into a desperate kiss.

When he released her, he was surprised to hear the air filled with Christine's musical giggle. "Bunnies, honestly Erik. Oh, but look what you've done to Raoul." She kneeled beside the fallen man, and when she was satisfied that he lived still, she once again dissolved into laughter.

"What would you have me do woman, run him through? I had to get rid of him, one way or another."

"I suppose…" Her brows creased as she reached for him. Erik's hand entwined with hers as she pulled him down into the snow beside her. With her silvery laughter echoing around them she wrapped her arms around him, muttering "bunnies" every few seconds before her lips found their way to his.

"I'll never understand women." Erik sighed lamentably.

"Don't be so dramatic Erik. Now where were we, ah yes, I believe Iwas coming to my angel of music."


	8. La petite mort

She couldn't breathe, every muscle in her body was tense, and her vision was blurring. In vain she called to God for release. None came as her cries were quickly silenced by him.

Oh, it had begun innocently enough; a visit to her angel's home only moments after her and Raoul had parted ways. She hadn't expected to find him still inhabiting the place; it had been a waning hope in her heart that led her down the Communist Road to the cellars and the lake.

More than his presence and continued vitality, it had been the feral look in his golden eyes that had stunned her. Delicately, she had removed his mask, and traced kisses over every miserable inch of his death's head, running her hands through his sparse black hair. The assault had begun as soon as she removed her ruby lips from his mangled face. 

Erik captured her in his iron grip, wrenching guttural cries from her; over and over they traversed the room, until it was nothing but a dizzying array of colors. She begged him for release, to end her torment; however, Erik deafened his ears to her pleas, and continued at his decided course. The first pain took her by surprise, her screams echoing through out the house.

Now she was here, her heart pounding wildly, entreating God and Erik for relief. She was sure she would die; no one could survive such treatment as this. Finally with a great cry, Christine was finished.

Looking down upon her, Erik pressed a soft kiss to her neck. "La petite mort." His throaty voice caressed her ear, as he moved to lay beside her.

"What a morbid thing to say." Erik chuckled at how tightly she still clung to her naiveté. He drew the covers around their still nude figures as they lay with their limbs entwined. His hands stroked her porcelain skin, still not believing she was there, her blonde curls fanning out on the pillow beside him. He once never dared to dream her room in his little house would see such a deliriously joyful moment.

He drew her close enough to him that Christine felt his every heartbeat. "Erik, I love you." Her soft whisper splintered the since that had descended upon them. 

His lips brushed her ear. "And I you ma Madame, for I am born in your eyes, live in your arms, and die in your lap. 

Author's note: La petite mort means the little death, it is an expression dating back to the renaissance age used to describe orgasm. The last line of the fic comes from a Shakespeare quote, Much Ado About Nothing I believe it was someone told me


	9. Still Dreaming

I, Raoul De Chagny, prayed harder than I had ever prayed in my life, praying for God to end the long suffering of my wife Christine. Even as I crossed myself in front of her small shrine to the Holy Virgin, her screams rent the air around, followed by short, spastic fit of coughing.

In an instant I was at her side, clutching her fragile hand in mine, brushing sodden strands of hair from her face. Her blue eyes fluttered open, staring at me sightlessly.

"Erik?" Her shriek caused my ears to ache and a scowl to contort my face.

"He's not here, it's Raoul." My voice masks me as the soul of patience, hiding my disdain for her. I must be gentle with her; she knows not what she says.

"Oh, Raoul, you must help me."

"Yes, my dear."

"You must bring me my wedding dress." A frantic note creeps into the voice of the maligned creature, as my patience for this nightly ritual grows thin.

"It isn't hear Christine, we ridded ourselves of that trash years ago." My shout frightens her; she backs away from me on the bed, as tears roll down her cheek. She need not know her precious dress is in the same box she hid it in years ago.

"But what if Erik comes for me? He'll want to be wed right away, I'll need my dress. Raoul please, he is coming for me!"

"That damnable dress, that's all you care for. I should bury you in it. I should take you down to those caves you love so well and leave you there in your dress, waiting for beloved corpse. He's probably still there only now he truly is a corpse." I laughed like a true madman, as I rifle through my drawer and remove the faded paper from it and shove it in her face. "Erik is dead." In disgust, I leave her to the servants, her and her pathetic screams for a long dead bridegroom. For all I am concerned the corpse can take her to hell with him.


	10. Night Life

Nights like these were made for lovers, a night where the skies were lit with glittering explosions, and all of Paris toasted the Opera Populaire. Below him, hundreds of couples came and went from the magnificent building, loudly celebrating the New Year. Fate precluded Erik from such things, from the comfort of other human beings. Tonight his companions would be his own dark urge for power, and a lust for vengeance.

The fireworks continued to thunder and brighten the night sky, making it seem nearly day. Erik slipped the mask of the Red Death over his hideous visage, preparing to make his entrance. On a night when love sparkled as sure as the dazzling lights in the sky, he could not afford to be weak. He must take them by surprise while they drown in their petty emotions. For him tonight could not be about love, it must be about possession, the only way to ensure his ultimate victory. He could not be swayed from his course, not even for her voice, should it call to him to stop.

One more explosion tattered the night sky and the Red Death stalked to his favored path through his labyrinth of tunnels. The light that caught his eyes in that moment sent a blade of ice through his heart, with its ominous blue light, echoing an angel's eyes.


	11. Khanum's Voice

Khanum's Voice

He is mine, he does not yet know it, but he belongs to me. The death faced man from the north has come to my kingdom, where all men become my play things. I reign all powerful, even my imbecile son, the so called shah-in-shah, cowers before me. I wield my power as the sword, deciding who shall live and who shall die.

True, he is strong willed, a bit more so than typical, even wildest stallion, can be broken with a firm hand. Break him I shall, until he will obey my every command, just as the best of my stables. There were so many before him who believed themselves to be a match for me, and they have all ended in the same manner. They did not understand whose realm they had entered, who the true master of Persia is.

Only when he has been properly subjugated may I lay the stars at his feet, through me he will obtain power my son could only dream of. He will show me his loyalty through the marvelous death he will create for me, but I desire more. This masked man is unlike my other amusements. To him I will give privileges unheard and more rights than any man in the world.

Privilege he must beg for though, to show that he has been properly brought to heel, to show that he recognizes whose hand it is that his power falls from. When he finally begs entrance to my bed, he will not be denied as so many others before him. I will raise him above all those within my kingdom, my magician of mortality. With my consort by my side, a new era will sweep Persia. For you see Erik, I am your destiny, you will not escape the fate I have planned for you.


	12. Dark Horizon

Dark Horizon

Christine De Chagny watched the darkening horizon with nervous expectation as the voluminous clouds foretelling oncoming storm gathered there. This storm in particular promised to be a dangerous spectacle Christine was not sure she wanted to witness.

Across the meadow that her gaze was centered on, a lone rider was making his way toward the house. In her heart she knew it was her husband returning after more than a year in France's foreign military service.

Lighting broke the sky, as though in greeting to the returning Viscomte. Christine inhaled sharply as thunder crashed around her, rattling the windows. In response to its mother's distress, the child inside her womb kicked violently.

"Yes," Christine smiled grimly to herself, "the coming storm will be disastrous.


	13. Nightmare's of Flesh

Nightmares Of Flesh

He came for me at night, always at night, four or five times a week. My lover, my very own demon sent to torment me. His torments were always delicious though, sending me to a world of pleasure that I was sure was the very gate to hell.

He'd come to me in my rooms in my husband's manor, on the ground's of his great estate. He'd come with silent caresses in the dark, and many fevered kisses. This night when he came, he spoke not a word, not altogether unusual for him; instead he awakened me by furiously pulling at my nightgown. I could not see him for the blackness around us, but no one else would come to me in such a manner, not even my husband. The atmosphere thrilled me, the darkness, and the secrecy of it. A wicked moan rose in my throat as he entered me.

Our lovemaking was silent, the only noise being our soft moan, and the sounds of limbs entangling themselves. His thrusts were frenzied, pushing me quickly to my apex.

After our dance, he did move, instead he stayed poised above me, our perspiration the only thing separating us.

"Erik my love, I did not think you'd come tonight, you know the danger if Raoul were to find out."

I reached to affectionately stroke his deformed cheek, but before my destination is achieved, a hand cruelly strikes my face.

"How dare you, you ungrateful little bitch!" The voice that I know so well screeches at me.

A hand tangles painfully in my hair, pulling my face close to the one above me. "Raoul!" I gasp as he pulls all the harder.

"Filthy whore." Painfully he wrenches me from the bed onto the floor. He attacks me so swiftly I have no chance of defense as the heavy blows rain down on my skull. I groan, trying to roll away, but his weight holds me in place. In my pain, I call for my angel, which only enrages him further. My vision blurs as the room begins to swirl. My flimsy nightgown, the one I wore in hopes of my ghost, is ripped away, leaving me bereft of all dignity. Another blow is landed, I no longer feel it though.

"Yes, that is fitting, let them find you naked, as the Delilah you are."

The room begins to fade away, the last sight I see in this world is my husband's face, contorted with fury. Delilah he calls me, how very fitting.


	14. The Viscount's Diva

The Viscount's Diva

He knew it from the moment he first saw her on the stage, he knew it was love. He had taken her to dinner that night, all shaking and stuttering, trying hard to please her. She had been unsure at first, but finally had relented to his charm.

They saw each other often after that, as he pulled her further away from the opera house and her duties there. He knew it must enrage the managers, but he was the patron, and there were other singers.

He looked at his beautiful diva sitting beside him in the plush carriage, a look of pure bliss on her face. Sadly, Raoul lamented how proper their relationship had been over its short course, as little physical contact as possible so society tongues would not wag. Entranced by the incredible eyes he adored, he threw caution to the wind bent his head to share with her their delicate first kiss.

To his surprised delight he felt her deepen the kiss and he responded in turn, their passion for one another swelling. When they finally broke from each other, he found himself staring at what looked to be the happiest woman on earth. Leaning against he whispered softly in her ear. "I love you, my dear Carlotta."


	15. Sweet Awakenings

Sweet Awakenings

His head hurt, in ways he had never even known possible. The last thing Erik clearly remembered was downing a bottle of fine scotch after witnessing Christine and her fop getting mushy on the opera house's steps. He was sure by how awful he felt that there were quite a few bottles that had followed the first one. He promised himself he would never do this again, provided he lived. Rolling over to the side of the bed, he puked rather gracelessly all over the floor.

i "Well you old fool; you've certainly done it this time." /i As he rolled back into place on the bed he noticed a number of things. The first and foremost was that he couldn't open his eyes, the second was that he was naked, and finally, in no particular order, was that he was on top of the covers and there was someone under the covers next to him.

At first a vain hope brought visions of Christine to his mind. Hesitantly he reached out his hand and felt very course hair. Christine's visage instantly vanished from his mind's eye, leaving him with nightmarish apparitions of a myriad of ballet rats, La Carlotta, and even Nadir, the last conjuring the urge to vomit all over again.

For moments he lay frozen in place, his hangover miraculously vanishing in the face of this sudden dilemma. He debated with himself for a while over the correct course of action. Killing whoever it was seemed to be the only feasible solution. If it was anyone who had never been in his lair before, they posed a definite threat, and if by some curse of hell it was Nadir, he would be too insufferable after this debacle to be allowed to live.

Taking in a deep breath, Erik forced his eyes open, fiercely resisting the urge to close them right away as the blinding pain hit him. He stared at the ceiling for a long while, not wanting to that which was necessary, not wanting to face whoever lay beside him. With all the courage of his little Phantom heart, he rolled over and snatched the blanket off the party next to him.

At that instant, Erik's greatest wish was to hang himself; instead he vomited over the side of the bed again. For beside him, sleeping quite peacefully, was the woolliest sheep he had ever seen. With a shaking hand, he poked the thing to make sure it was indeed still alive. After rolling over with a loud bleat, the sheep set about to affectionately licking Erik's scarred face. It was quite content for some time before it found itself rudely pushed away. The sheep watched in puzzlement as the naked man ran screaming towards his bath.


	16. No More Tomorrows

No More Tomorrows

i "Hopeless" /i 

He watched the expression in her eyes, the light fading from the as her freedom was ripped from her with a few simple words.

i "Love a lost illusion" /i 

Before he could even think about the decision, his hand released her. The he had tried so hard to fend off began to spill over, traversing his cheeks. She could never love him, he should've known.

i "Helpless, unforgiven" /i 

The little girl within her could never allow the angle the sin of turning out to be a monster. "Go, leave me, forget everything." Though she hesitated, he could she the sheer joy that she was trying hard to hide.

i "How I could have loved her and made her love me too" /i 

He watched her release her fiancée in order for them to flee his home. The love he could have shared with her would have been legendary, the kind that could be found in fairytales with happily-ever-after's. If only she'd been able to see past appearances and into his soul. As he watched the pair disappear into the darkness of the caves, he let himself crumple to the ground, waiting for the mob.

i "Let the world be done with me" /i 


	17. Elaborate Lives

Elaborate Lives

Life is a terrible, funny thing. That is to say, funny is a God plays games with your head sort of way. I was a wanderer for many years before my beloved Opera Garnier, and a wanderer I became again afterwards. I slid so well back into the shadows I had come from that not even the Daroga was able to obtain information on my whereabouts.

I built a wondrous life for myself, journeying to parts of the world the no civilized European would want to step foot in. I did find some suffering in my journeys, and much loneliness, but the things I'd seen made up for it. I saw art and architecture that most could only dream of, and heard music that sounded as though from another world. The orient managed to take my breath away on a daily basis.

After years of this wandering, I returned to Europe, via a route through Greece. When I made my way into German the papers cried out the news the imminent death of the great diva Christine Daaé. My heart felt as though it would cease to beat, my mouth went dry. I returned to Europe just in time to have my heart ripped out anew. Why still Daaé though? She must have kept her maiden name as a stage name. I never thought that the fop would let her sing again, but it seemed I was wrong.

I quickened my pace into France, determined to say good bye to the one person in this world I truly ever loved. For three days I rode endlessly, nearly killing several good horses, until I reached the outskirts of Paris. My horse tore across the stone roads, bringing me to the Garnier, where I hoped I could find out Christine's location. There was no need for the opera house though; the front page of the Époque told it all, _Christine Daaé, La Divina, dies in sleep._ I felt the my tears washing over my face before I even knew that I cried, they felt strange rolling down my face for the first time in years.

I found a boarding house and drown my sorrows after a meager meal. After interrogating the land lady, I learned that Christine's funeral would be a public affair at Notre Dame itself. The entire city was on its knees in grief for her, and important man of the church would conduct the service.

I waited and waited until the day grew late and I knew that most of the mourners would be gone. It was then that I headed to Notre Dame with a dozen red roses for my lady love, and the intention to give her one last kiss. I left my room unlocked, knowing that I would not return and did not wish to trouble the landlady.

Silently I padded into the holy sanctuary, nearly deserted by this hour, and made my way to her beautiful coffin which had been left open. I laid the roses on her chest, she still looked angelic, despite age and the withering disease which had killed her. It made me loathe thinking of how I must look after all the years, my twisted death's head now full of liver spots. Her light had been so quickly smothered, like so many before her, by the terrible coughing sickness. The tears had begun to flow when a voice from behind caught me off guard.

"Mon Dieu! Is that you Erik?" I whirled around and came face to face with Meg Giry, who stared at me in the most curious manner.

"Yes, yes, the Phantom, is here, don't alert the authorities, if you could be so kind. Where's De Chagny?" I found it odd that I had not seen hide nor hair of her beloved Viscomte.

"Raoul? He's come and gone already."

"Ah, I understand, his wife is not yet in the ground, but he has more pressing matters to attend to."

Her eyes narrowed. "His wife, what are you talking about? They were never married."

Pain shot through my mind, traveling down to encompass my chest. "They didn't?"

"No Erik, Christine sent him away. She never married anyone."

"I don't understand, I thought she was happy with him. Why did they never marry?"

She was the soul of patience. "It was because of you Erik; she was always waiting for you to come back.'

I gaped at her. "A lie, an impossible lie!"

"Look at her hand." I followed the woman's gaze, there on Christine's left ring finger, was the plain gold band I had given her so long ago. More tears threatened, I swallowed them though, pushing the truth that threatened to overwhelm me far into he back of my mind.

"She loved you Erik, but you never came back, not even to say good-bye."

I laughed in her face, a howling, terrible laugh. "Lies, lies, she felt nothing but guilt she wished to appease." I gathered myself and stormed out of the church. One for then, none for later, I would not kiss Christine good-bye, she wouldn't have wanted me to.


	18. Erised

Erised

There is a mirror my friend, in which I have seen myself reflected as perfect. "What magic is this?" You may say. I can tell you not, only that I have seen this wondrous thing before my very eyes.

In this marvelous mirror I have seen myself made whole again, the most handsome of men. Also here I have seen all of my wildest desires and dreams fulfilled. The mirror of fantasies reflects to me that life I have always yearned for.

You doubt me my friend, you scoff and laugh at me. Again you ask of me, "Where is such a mirror that a creature like myself may see himself as perfect within it?"

Ahh, but I have seen this mirror, despite your petty disbelief, and I will see it again. The method its magic is unknown to me, a magic I certainly do not posses myself. No my friend, I am sure I have not had too much to drink, nor have I imbibed too much opium. I can tell you where this mirror is, though you look at me as though what is left of my mind has its leave.

This great and magnificent mirror in which I am a real man and am loved, is none other than the sparkling cerulean depths of the eyes of my loving wife, Christine.


	19. Face Your Fate

Face Your Fate

Christine embraced him, planting a soul rending kiss on his lips. For in the end there was only ever one choice for her, the only thing that could truly set them all free. Christine was determined that neither she nor her fiancée would suffer for this madman.

While his attentions were diverted, her skirt was hitched up and the dagger concealed within her garter was drawn. The enamored phantom never saw what was coming. The tiny diva drove her knife deep into his back, causing blood to spatter them both.

She watched as though in a trance as his body crumpled before her, his eyes full of accusations and misery. She had betrayed him to the very end of all things, finally bringing the ultimate end to his world that he always knew she would.

Horror stricken, Christine gaped at her red stained hands, as her angel bled to death in the lake before her. Her mind seemed to glaze over, She could not face what she'd done. With numb resolve she waded over to Raoul to set him free.

Dagger in hand, she methodically cut through the thick rope binding him. When she finally dared to look into his beloved blue eyes, it was not gratitude she saw there, but terror. The man she had held dear enough to kill for was now staring at her as though she were the slain masked devil.

"Christine, what have you become?" Tears spilling from her eyes, she reached for him. Rapidly he backed away from the hellish, blood covered bride.

"Raoul, I've freed us, don't you see? Now we can be together." She forced a smile on her face, wishing he could see the truth of her sacrifice.

When she finally touched him, he screamed as though he'd been burned. "Stay away from me you monster!"

Christine toppled backwards as though she'd been struck. Clutching the material of her dress about her, the grief stricken woman hurtled herself to the steps of the phantom's lair, collapsing on them. She buried her head in her lap and cried bitterly. For how long she knew not, but when she raised her head finally, she was alone in the deserted lair.

She contemplated the knife in her hand. She had been mistaken before, horribly mistaken. Now there was truly only one choice to make. She begin to draw the knife closer to her own chest.


	20. In Your Eyes

In Your Eyes

Raoul's mother had told him that there was no such thing as magic. He had always considered himself a sensible boy, so he believed her and put away childish things like magic and fairytales.

For years the little boy would not let anything stir the surrealist parts of his imagination and he was as solemn as any adult. That was until this moment, for now he was sure that magic must exist.

He was sitting next to a roaring fire while a haunting melody filled the air around him. Monsieur Daae was playing the violin while telling an elaborate Scandinavian myth.

Raoul turned his eyes to gaze at the curly haired girl next to him, staring transfixed at her father. Christine was as beautiful as any angel. Staring at her sapphire eyes he felt a warm sensation spreading from his heart to his limbs, causing his stomach to flutter. The young boy smiled to himself. _"Surely this must be magic."_


	21. Man's Best Friend

Man's Best Friend

Erik spent many hours in a day watching his dog, It was indeed one of his favorite activities to sit in his high back chair watch the creature salivate over the bones he threw to him. Often as he sat by the fire, he could hear the diminutive sounds of his little wife Christine sleeping peacefully in the background. Erik made sure that Christine slept enough, for if she didn't get enough sleep she often threatened to leave him.

It was bliss to the man to watch the much simpler being at his business. Occasionally he'd reach out his hand and idly pat the thing, which for some reason had always remained terrified of him. The pair got on well enough though, until one day the dog snapped at him, causing Erik to jump and strike at him.

"Now, now that was naughty Raoul." He clucked his tongue at the naked, crouching Viscount. "You've been such a good pet, and I've had you as long as I've been married to Christine, I'd hate to lose you now." At the mention of Christine's name his eyes went wide, Erik's pet did not often see her, due to her many naps. Erik began to pet Raoul's bottom in his usual disturbing way, as he chuckled to himself.

"Now be a good boy and stay quiet for daddy, after all we wouldn't want to wake mommy." Erik sometimes wondered if his pet would be happier somewhere else, but he cared little for the happiness of others at the moment. He finally had all that he wanted.

Erik smiled at the look in Raoul's eyes as he began to undo his trousers. "Stay boy."


	22. The Darkest Evening

The downy flakes fell lightly from the sky, dusting her crown of glorious mahogany curls. How she had found herself in these woods, she did not know, though she thought she knew them. The only sound was the easy sweep of wind around them, lending an air of calmness to the place. Though it still throbbed from a mysterious source, she turned her neck to look at the man who rode behind her on the horse. She believed the pain and her reason for being here were connected, though she had yet to figure all he pieces out.

He had been the last person she expected to see, but he was most welcome, swinging her up from where she stood onto the pale horse to ride side saddle before him. He held her tightly and she felt no shame. "Where are we going Erik?"

He smiled enigmatically. "That you must wait to see, it's a surprise. I promise you will like it though."

"Are you sure I will?"

"Is Erik ever unsure?" She felt slightly chastised by his remark and lowered her eyes from to watch before her as the woods filled up with snow. It had been a scant few flakes when they started their journey, now it had grown into to what seemed an impassable blizzard. The pain in her neck grew worse, seeming to engulf her entire body in the torture. Her breath came in swallow gasps, her body became as frozen as the ice around her.

"I'm so confused Erik? Where are we going? Why do I hurt? Why was I not allowed to say good bye to Raoul, or Meg, or anybody?"

Gently his gloved hand tilted her face toward him and delicately he brushed his lips against hers. "I'm sorry cher, but these are questions which you must wait for the answers to. Know that the pain will pass though." He pulled her tighter to him and kissed the crown of her head. "I am with you, just remember that, and so do not fear."

She bit her lip as the pain seemed to increase ten fold, every fiber of her being burned, she could no longer breathe. From far away she heard Erik singing, at first it sounded like a lullaby, and then it changed, metamorphosing into something else, more like the Dies Irae than anything.

Then it seemed she breathed no more, yet she could breathe freely at last, and the pain was felt no more. She tried to tell Erik, but her voice was stolen by the light that engulfed the forest, as a glorious sun had risen, just as the forest cleared around them and the snows ceased.

Before them loomed two gates of gold, the house beyond them was indiscernible in glorious light. A lonely caretaker came forward to open the gates for the pair. She felt tears in her eyes as the man excitedly turned as waved to her, smiling. "Papa…where are we Erik?"

"We are home angel."

Paris, that very moment:

The doctor pulled the white sheet over the young Comtesse's face, she had been fading fast when he arrived and he had held little hope she would survive. He staggered to the door, his face as bloodless as though he were the one who had plummeted down the manor's grand staircase. "I am sorry Monsieur De Chagny, she is gone."


	23. Thing's Less Than Likely

Things Less Than Likely

He wanted to die, here and now, alone in this rundown cabin in the countryside. Christine had left him, married the fop, and now he was stuck here in this blizzard. He lay beneath the one flimsy blanket he's found, shivering.

For a second his heart leapt with hope as the door he lay facing rattled open. Christine had come for him! He immediately fell back into the depths of despair as it turned out to be a sobbing redheaded woman. She turned toward him and let out a horrified gasp. Erik leapt up, instantly recognizing one of the people he blamed for his downfall, none other than La Carlotta herself.

He rushed her, ready to end her pathetic life and get some revenge before he to had to face his maker. The woman screamed and covered her belly as he approached, causing him to look down and freeze in mid-stride. The woman before him was quite clearly quite pregnant. He let his arms hang uselessly at his sides and gaped at her.

She instantly began to sob. "Please Monsieur Phantom, don't kill me. I'm going to have a baby. Please let me stay the night in this place. My carriage has broken down and the driver disappeared some hours ago."

She'd die if he forced her out into the storm, he knew it. Inwardly he groaned, as much as he hated the Spanish peacock, he knew he couldn't kill her and her unborn child. "Fine, but don't speak to me."

A smile lit her features and she threw her arms around him. "Thank you Monsieur, thank you!"

She went and sat on the floor as far away from him as possible, and humming to herself, began to take down her sodden red locks. Erik studied her with disdain for a moment before retuning to his post and pulling the blanket around himself, hoping she'd just disappear.

Some minutes later, the humming had subsided and an eerie silence fell between them, punctuated by the occasional sniffle or chatter of teeth.

_"She should have the blanket you jackass…but she's Carlotta…but she's a pregnant woman."_ Erik argued with himself for some minutes before grudgingly pulling himself up and stalking towards her. He dropped the blanket across her shoulders and pulled it tight. "You need to stay warm." He said tersely as she turned toward him looking frightened.

He returned to his spot and let the silence return. "Thank you Monsieur."

"Your welcome…Is the child Piangi's then?"

"Si."

"I'm sorry."

"It is alright Monsieur, you payed for your crimes that night, she left you." Though he sure she was only saying such a thing for the sake of peace, it assuaged his aching conscience greatly. He sighed and lay down on the floor, drifting off into a fitful slumber.

The sound of the off key mutilation of one of Rossini's arias awoke him. Carlotta was still awake and was singing just as shrilly as ever. One glance at her face told him that not all was well. Her skin had taken on a pale almost blue tone. He scooted across the floor towards her.

"Are you feeling, um, well?" He lightly brushed his hand against her cheek, encountering what felt more like ice than skin.

"I'm fine, really." She smiled, believing her own words.

_ "Christ, hypothermia, she'll lose the baby at this rate." _

"Would you mind if I got under the blanket with you…it's…very cold?"

"Alright, but no funny business mind you." Her look conveyed to him that she really might not mind some funny business with the opera ghost.

He allowed her to throw the blanket around and he wrapped his arms around her. "Monsieur, what is your name?"

"Erik, just Erik." Funny how Christine could never be bothered to ask his name.

"I hope we'll be good friends after this Erik, you can help me rebuild my career."

_ "Ever the ambitious bitch"_ Still, her words brought the glimmer of a smile to his lips.

"Would you sing for me Erik, you have such a lovely voice."

"I suppose I could do that." He began to sing a lullaby to the hypothermic Spanish diva he would have sworn that he hated up until this moment in time.

Carlotta drifted off into slumber in his arms, her deep brown eyes fluttering peacefully closed. For a long time he watched her rhythmic breathing, amazed at how lovely she could look when she was not strutting about like a peacock. He ran his finger along her cheek bone down to gently caress her full lips. Delicately he placed a kiss on the top of her head. Maybe there was more to this woman than he'd once thought, and just maybe they'd be good friends after all.


End file.
